


Rest

by HostisHumaniGeneris



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Ghosts, Psychopomps, Superheroes, Trick or Treat: Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-08-03 09:54:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16324007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HostisHumaniGeneris/pseuds/HostisHumaniGeneris
Summary: Caleb Connors used to be the world's greatest superhero.  But he got older and after saving the world from yet another madman's scheme, decided to give up his double life and deal with the day to day grind of normalcy.  When a skull-faced woman makes her presence known to him, he intends to vanquish this obvious villain, however, she knows far more than he does about his life and retirement.





	Rest

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gwenfrankenstien](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwenfrankenstien/gifts).



Caleb Connors lived a boring life.

He rode the subway, an anonymous and unexceptional suit who worked downtown.  He blended with the crowds, used to being so easy to ignore.  He spent his time int the same run-down apartment, did the same anonymous work.  He was an utterly, aggressively normal man, had been ever since he had hung up his cape.

He had once been the Exemplar, tireless guardian of Capstone City, until he got tired.  Heroes did eventually grow old and slow, and would eventually need to call it quits.  Digging miles-long trenches to divert floodwaters, intercepting meteorite impacts, and fighting villains had gotten tougher and tougher the more grays he had.  A fight against Dr. Extinction that led to the villain’s ultimate demise was when he called it quits—not only was the job becoming harder, but he was becoming cynical, doubtful.

Retirement brought him a new type of clarity to him.  Within months, a new Exemplar arose; far younger, she had taken up his name and continued his fight.  That left Caleb Connors with nothing to do but relax.

Which he couldn’t.

He worked forty hours a week—with substantial unscheduled and unmentioned breaks for superheroics during his workday—and spent his nights keeping his city safe.  Cutting out one of his two lives left him with just the routine he’d carved out from the other.

Which was why he boarded the same subway, doing the same job as he had done for years, quiet and meek as a mouse. 

Maybe that was why he tensed up when she boarded.  The woman was in a sharp black pantsuit, pale as a corpse.  She tensed when she boarded, then looked around; not nervous exactly, but wary.  She mumbled something under her breath, inaudible to all except him with his superhearing.  It was Latin. 

People who chanted Latin while on the subway tended not to be on the up-and-up, in his experience.  That she got off the subway at his stop and followed him, confirmed by several surreptitious glances behind, indicated that he was correct in his assumption.  He cut down an alley—he had no idea why he still kept the costume in a hidden compartment in his briefcase, but he did.

When she rounded the corner—or the walking skeleton in her suit did—she cocked her head as she saw him, tensing up as he floated, arms crossed.  A walking skeleton chanting Latin and following him had to be bad news.  As she appraised him, her bony jaw dropped in surprise.  “You?!”

“There may be a younger man in my clothes, but I’m still willing to stand up for what’s right.  And you are?” 

“O-occult…” The skeleton said, dumbstruck.  “But spelled with ‘k’s.  Okkult.”

“Well then, Okkult, I would advise you to abandon whatever your plans are.  You’ve not committed any crimes yet, _that I know of_ , so I would suggest you stand down.”  He unfolded his arms and tensed as she briefly chanted.  Magic wasn’t exactly his specialty—he owed his powers to Professor Jasper’s experimental omni-formula.

“I _felt_ power here…” The skeleton said, shadows swirling around; her jacket billowed in the vortex.  “…but this… this…”

She was preparing to teleport away; Caleb had seen this dozens of times before.  And they _never_ simply teleported away, and rethought their life choices.  It was always to scheme revenge.  He wasn’t interested in waiting for that eventuality, so he’d detain her and contact someone he knew who specialized in magic to determine what exactly to do with her.

Maybe it was just rust; he had not confronted a villain in a long time, but she faded out of sight right before he reached her.  Her morose voice echoed despite her disappearance, giving the all-to-familiar to Caleb “We’ll meet again.”

* * *

He called up some old friends.  Or tried to, but nobody picked up when he did call.  It was foggy, did the Ebon Oracle and Morgana the Witch-Queen know that he was exemplar, rather than a random banking compliance person calling?  He couldn’t remember.

He couldn’t remember a lot.

Going on a flight to clear his head caused him to worry more; people who saw him looked scared of him.  It was true he’d been getting standoffish towards the end of his career, that he wasn’t quite as friendly as he had been.  But the sight of disbelief and fear by the average citizen was disturbing.

Returning home to find a message from Leigha on it was not much better.

He’d loved her.  She loved the Exemplar.  It could’ve worked, but he’d ended up neglecting that facet of his life, like so much else.  In the end, she’d found happiness with someone else, and he’d respected that.  “Cal… we need to talk.  Okkult is here, and she…”

He took to the skies and headed for her apartment before her sentence even finished.

* * *

The scene was not what he expected.  Leigha was sitting, a glass of wine on the table beside her.  Okkult was sitting across from her, bony hands wringing while she muttered.  He couldn’t speak Latin, but the “Behold!” she shouted at the end was clear as day.

Leigha jumped up in shock as soon as Okkult finished.  The look of fear on her face wasn’t directed at Okkult—she’d been around superheroics enough that a mystical skeleton wasn’t a shock—but at him.  She covered her mouth and drew in a sharp breath.  “Cal…”

“What is going on?” He asked, trying to keep his voice at a happy medium; a demand for truth from the villainess, and a genuine request for help from his old confidante.  He wasn’t sure he succeeded.

“You don’t remember?” Leigha asked, then turned to her other visitor.  “He doesn’t remember.”

“They rarely do.” Okkult said; her voice wavering. 

“Remember what?!”

“Please.” The skeleton said, pleading.  “You need to remain calm; what we’re going to say is going to be a shock to you.”

He took a deep breath, and forced himself to relax.  They were silent for a long time, before Leigha leaned forward.  “Should I…”

The skeleton nodded. 

After several halting attempts, Leigha told the entire story.  Of that day five years ago, when he ‘retired’.  Doctor Extermination’s latest scheme, bringing down a rain of asteroids to cause a mass extinction from which he would rebuild, had come dangerously close.  The combined efforts of dozens of heroes averted the catastrophe, with Caleb shattering the the final asteroid before it impacted, rushing to deflect or further destroy the fragments.  He remembered that frantic fight, and Doctor Extermination charging at him in his powered armor, swearing vengeance.  He could steel feel the ache of his knuckles against the strongest alloys known to man (and several highly-advanced alien species Extermination had stolen from).

The part he couldn’t remember was how the fight ended.  And Leigha broke down in the retelling.  Okkult took up the story from their.  “Exemplar… do you remember a teenage heroine named Wicca—two ‘k’s?”

He remembered her.  She looked like the stereotypical image he had of a high school goth, and that she was part of the Young Protectors.  Two Ks… “SO you are…”

“The five years… I grew up a bit… not enough to think the misspelling wasn’t stylish, but I shifted focus from siccing swarms of ravens on bank robbers to dealing with ghosts…” The skeletal façade disappeared, and she was just a sharp-dressed young professional again.  “Name and wardrobe change were part of it.  My… ‘business attire’ does have to do with expectations given I try to ferry wandering spirits to…”

“I died.” Caleb said flatly.  It wasn’t a question.  He wanted a straight answer, which he was given by Leigha and Okkult both nodding.  The fight was becoming clearer.  The blade Extermination added to his armor’s bracer; that last punch he threw as they both fell, determined not to let the Doctor escape again to endanger the entire world again.  The landing and the darkness.

And then the routine.

“So... what next?” Caleb asked, clutching his side.  He felt the hole, right under his ribs and angled up.

“I… normally there’s a lot of kicking and screaming.” Okkult said.  “But it would be best if you just let me guide you to where you need to go.”

“Do whatever you need to do.”

She skeleton stood, shrugging her shoulders.  “I’ll just be in the next room; let me know when you’re ready.”

With that she left.  Leigha was looking on the floor, fingering the stem of her empty glass of whine.  “So…”

He sat in the chair across from her.  Their eyes met.  There was a lot of things he regretted; he’d given up a chance to be with her because he couldn’t fit it between his day job and his heroics.  A day job, a normal life so empty he’d failed to notice he’d been dead for the last five years of it. 

They had a lot to say.


End file.
